


a very drunk christmas eve eve (and the day that followed)

by thesecretdetectivecollection



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Mistletoe, Play Wrestling, all the Christmas cliches, also a bit of highkey pining, also a moment of unspoken sexual tension but it's brief so i dunno, also drunk jamie singing!, badly!, but in a nonthreatening and lovable way!, drunk jamie hitting on women, stevie flirting up a storm!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretdetectivecollection/pseuds/thesecretdetectivecollection
Summary: Jamie's girlfriend leaves him on December 22nd.He spends December 23rd with his best friend, getting completely plastered, and ends up spending Christmas Eve with his family.





	a very drunk christmas eve eve (and the day that followed)

**Author's Note:**

> For Megs, my best friend in the whole world, who deserves all the cuddles and all the cat pyjamas. Thank you for being in my life, and thank you for being such an incredible friend. I love you!

She’d broken up with him on December 22nd.

 _December 22nd_. His parents were taking a trip abroad for Christmas, with his two brothers and their families. But they’d done Christmas with his family last year, and it was her turn to have Christmas with her family. At least that’s what they’d agreed on, when Jamie’d told his parents not to plan for him being there.

Of course, then she’d gone and left him three days before Christmas.

Where exactly does that leave Jamie?

Well, it leaves him in his mid-twenties, on Christmas Eve Eve, getting as drunk as he possibly can before his favorite pub closes on Christmas Eve.

He’s probably a little too old for this, and if Stevie wasn’t his absolute oldest friend, there’s no way he would watch him slur his way through Christmas carols and Beatles hits alike, even the odd Oasis number when his inhibitions drop low enough.

There aren’t many people in, most people are traveling now, to go see family, or frantically wrapping and rewrapping gifts, only to give up and put them into gift bags instead.

There are a couple of girls in a corner booth, different enough in looks to be friends rather than sisters. Jamie decides to deploy his most efficient technique of seduction—maybe getting lucky could be his Christmas present to himself.

So he winks clumsily at Stevie—with both eyes and a wide, gaping mouth—and puts on a horribly familiar tune.

Stevie winces as soon as he hears the opening notes. No. Surely not—surely Jamie wasn’t _that_ drunk?

 _I dun wannalot fer Chris’mas_ , Jamie starts, far too confident for his level of talent—or at least that’s what Stevie assumes, since the words are slurring into each other.

The girls in the corner giggle, one tossing a dark curl over her shoulders, covering their mouths as they whisper to each other, the topic of their conversation not particularly difficult to figure out.

 _There is just one thing I NEED_ , he continues, deciding that emphasis is best conveyed by volume.

_I dun CARE about the PREZZIES_   
_unnerneath the CHRIS’MAS TREE_

He’s bellowing some words now, and Stevie can’t quite take it anymore. He’s had a few beers himself, but it’s clearly nowhere near enough to make this experience even slightly tolerable.

“James, please,” he says quietly.

“Stevie!” Jamie sounds surprised to see him, though he can’t possibly be, considering they came in together and talked for a couple hours while slowly working towards pickling their livers.

Jamie giggles, voice going high and sweet—Stevie can’t quite help but smile, because he loves that giggle. It’s so pure for a cynic like Jamie Carragher, and not many people get to hear it. He throws his arms around Stevie and clings to him for a moment.

“I luvya, Steve,” he slurs. Stevie steadies him, pulling one of Jamie’s arms around his shoulders and wrapping one of his own around Jamie’s back.

“I know, mate, I love you too, come on now, let’s get you home, you need to eat something and have some water.” He nudges Jamie forward and Jamie lurches, forcing Stevie to get in front of him and hold him up for a second.

“We’re walking now, J,” he says gently, “come on, J, let’s go. Let’s go catch a cab, mate.”

Jamie nods, bending his head so his nose is resting against Stevie’s shoulder. He can feel his breath—they’re old friends, and touch is hardly foreign, but it’s always strangely intimate, feeling Jamie’s breath on his skin, holding him tight like this.

“Come on, Jamie,” he says again, voice less steady than he would like. He can feel it too, the pleasantly warm buzz of alcohol.

They stand there for a moment, and maybe another moment. Either way, it’s a moment too long, and Stevie takes a deep breath and remembers himself, pulling away a little so Jamie looks up at him, bleary-eyed.

“Let’s get you to bed, lad.”

“’Kay.” Jamie agrees, taking a small step forward.

Stevie manages to get him almost out the door before they pass the corner booth, where the two girls are sitting.

“Marry me,” Jamie calls, lazy enough that the girls just smile at each other rather than recoiling.

Stevie grimaces and apologizes.

“No, really! I was _engaged_ , ‘n she _left_ me! So now I can marry someone else! And you two are the beautifullest girls I’ve ever seen wi’my own two eyes. So we should g’t _m’rried!”_

“Come on, James, let’s go home,” Stevie says, voice soft enough that Jamie turns to look at him. His eyes narrow, desperately trying to focus, and eventually he nods.

He gets them outside and hails a cab driver who either isn’t afraid of Jamie puking in his taxi or is just lured by the possibility of a generous tip.

Either way, Stevie’s not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Jamie’s a tall lad, just slightly taller than him, and strong, torso and limbs thickly muscled. Honestly, he should be able to take his own weight, with the amount of muscle he’s got, but he’s a lazy bastard when he’s drunk, and leans entirely on Stevie.

The driver is kind enough or perceptive enough that he parks the car and opens the back door, helping Stevie get Jamie inside and waiting for him to follow afterwards before getting back into the driver’s seat. Stevie gives him the address, voice exhausted, and lets Jamie rest his head on him.

He’s asleep by the time they get back to Jamie’s flat, and Stevie pays the driver, the fare plus a decent tip, carefully counting it out of his worn leather wallet before tucking it back into his pocket. He gets out first and slowly maneuvers Jamie out—the driver’s goodwill extends far enough not to complain about how long it takes, but not quite enough to help get the sloppy drunk out of his car.

Stevie hauls him up the stairs and digs through his pockets for the keys, eyes scrupulously avoiding looking at Jamie’s crotch as if that would somehow make things less awkward when he’s got to stick his hand in his best mate’s pocket.

It doesn’t help that Jamie leans into the touch, hips shifting to get more friction.

“It’s me, J. It’s just me. I’m not your type,” Stevie reminds him gently, opening the door and getting him inside before carefully locking it behind him. He hangs the keys on the hook by the door, next to the old wooden coatrack and umbrella stand, thoughtfully stood in a plastic dish like the ones set under plants to catch the water dribbling out.

“Bed or sofa?”

“Bed,” Jamie groans, trying to slip off his shoes unsuccessfully and just barely avoiding face-planting into the wall. It’s a good thing, all told, Stevie thinks with a sudden clarity. Jamie’s got a lovely nose, it would be such a shame if it went crooked because of one drunken night after a breakup that had been such a long time coming.

Stevie nods and they work their way over to the bedroom, Stevie grateful suddenly, for Jamie’s warm weight as they walk over the cold wooden floor in their socks.

“Heating?”

“Turn’t down,” Jamie mutters, “needed money for rent, now that she’s gone. And Christmas presents. And booze.” Stevie sighs. End of the month, with the holiday period, it’s no wonder Jamie’s struggling a bit. He’d probably gone and spent too much on presents for other people, which would have been fine if his ex was still around helping with the rent the way she used to.

Still, it makes Stevie’s heart ache a little, that Jamie was in such dire straits that he’d had to sacrifice heating in order to drink his sorrow away. He would’ve been concerned if it weren’t for the fact that Jamie normally didn’t drink much, barely had a drop except when he was hurting.

It’s dark, but Stevie knows this flat as well as he knows his own, and he senses the shift as they go down the corridor and get to Jamie’s bedroom. The bed is shoved in the corner in order to maximize space, not a single, but not king-sized by any means.

He sets Jamie down, laying him on his side and setting a pillow next to his chest to help keep him that way before padding down to the kitchen and filling up a glass with water and finding the aspirin.

Stevie sets it on Jamie’s bedside table, reaching down to touch Jamie’s forehead, maybe too gently.

“Jeans,” Jamie groans, kicking his legs out under the covers.

“Take them off, then,” Stevie mutters, exhausted, “come on, J, go to bed, I’ve got water and painkillers right next to you for the hangover in the morning. I’ll go sleep on the sofa, so you can call out if you need anything.” He goes to walk away, when a hand knocks against his arm, clearly Jamie looking to take hold of him, searching the dark air for where he thought Stevie was.

“Sofa’s cold. ‘m warm,” Jamie says gently, and Stevie knows it’s an offer, somehow.

If he was sober, he’d probably have the strength to walk away. But he isn’t, and the old crush he’d ruthlessly smothered years ago gets the slightest bit of hope.

“Budge up,” he orders, and Jamie shifts obediently before his arm reaches again, more confident as he tugs at Stevie’s hand, not letting go until Stevie’s in bed with him, facing him for a moment.

“Good night, J.”

“Night, Stevie,” Jamie mumbles back, absently throwing an arm around him and moving closer, “love you.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s Christmas Eve Eve, and Jamie hasn’t got a place to go or a soul to hold other than Stevie.

Whatever it is, it isn’t _romantic_ , per se, but Stevie finds his heart squeezing in his chest, full nearly to bursting.

“Love you too,” he confesses quietly, not finding it in him to complain when Jamie nuzzles into his shoulder again.

He wakes to Jamie pushing at his side.

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll go to the sofa—“ Stevie groans. He knew he shouldn’t have taken him up on his offer to get into bed with him. He should’ve known how _awkward_ it would be when Jamie sobered up. He’s caught up in regret with a touch of self-loathing for a few moments, until Jamie actually rolls over his body and gets up, sprinting to the bathroom to throw up.

Stevie’s suddenly incredibly awake and runs after him, rubbing his back in soothing circles and noting that at some point during the night, Jamie had gotten undressed, so he was just in a pair of loose boxers, while Stevie was still wearing his jeans and t-shirt.

“Sorry I woke you,” Jamie mutters, crawling into Stevie’s arms and just letting his head rest against Stevie’s chest, feeling the reassuringly steady rise and fall of his breath.

“S’okay. Back to bed, or you gonna be sick again?”

“Dunno. Stay here for a minute?”

“Sure, J.” Jamie hums in appreciation and lets his eyes drift shut, barely aware of the warm arms coming up to encircle him.

They’re both asleep when the morning comes, light pouring in from the small, dingy window, high in the wall. The tile is cold and hard under Jamie’s feet and Stevie, as it turns out, can’t quite feel his—they’ve gone far past the point of numbness, with a full grown man basically sat in his lap for hours at a time.

They communicate mostly through groans and growls in the morning, neither quite getting up the courage to mention the nakedness, or the sleeping together, or the waking up together.

They shower individually—small comfort though that is.

Stevie’s brushing his teeth with his finger while Jamie changes, tossing an extra set of clothes at his friend.

It’s getting near lunchtime and they’ve called twelve restaurants and left twelve voicemails when they realize it’s Christmas Eve and the shops are closed.

After an eternity of sitting on the sofa and complaining about their hunger, Stevie gets up to toast some bread and fry up some eggs.

Jamie grins. “I love you!” He says fervently as Stevie hands him a plate with eggs and toast and a bit of bacon on the side.

Stevie smiles and settles next to him with an identical plate. It’s quiet, eating together, and they manage to put on the telly quiet enough to make out the words without exacerbating the pounding in their heads.

Jamie only manages about half of his breakfast before he puts his plate on the table, shameless as he lays down to rest his head in Stevie’s lap. Breakfast—brunch?—isn’t awkward, but it does involve Stevie occasionally brushing crumbs off of Jamie’s shoulder and cursing his overzealous toaster.

It’s probably late afternoon when Stevie gets a text, the vibration waking him from his nap with a twitch so strong that even Jamie stirs, groaning slightly.

It’s his mother, of course. It’s Christmas Eve, and she wants to know when he’s coming over.

He’s about to reply when Jamie stirs again, almost burrowing his head into the muscle of Stevie’s thigh.

 _Can’t, Mum_ , he writes instead, _going to stay with Jamie. Bad breakup, don’t want him to be alone._

His mother loves Jamie as a second son—which pushes Stevie himself down to third son territory, really, and so the response comes quickly.

_Bring him with you!_

He smiles down at his phone.

“What’s she saying?” Jamie asks groggily, turning so he’s still laying down but looking up at him.

Stevie almost asks how he knows who it is, but doesn’t bother. Jamie just knows these things sometimes.

“Come have Christmas with us.”

“Don’t wanna intrude, mate.”

Stevie smacks his shoulder. “We love you! You’re not intruding. Come have Christmas with us, J!”

Jamie hesitates a moment, beating back the feeling that he’s somehow betraying his own family by celebrating with Stevie’s. Eventually, though, he smiles and nods. “When are we leaving?”

“We’ve got an hour tops before we’ve got to be out of here. Paulie’s got little ones now, remember? They eat early, so we all eat early.”

“Gimme ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go. We’re not keeping your mum waiting. And you know Alice almost fell asleep in your lap last time I hung out with your family, and it was just, what was it? Eight or so?”

“Half-seven,” Stevie replies with a laugh, “and she had a cold, remember? We didn’t even realize until she started snoring, the sweet little thing. And then I laughed and she woke up and got so upset, said you were her favorite Liverpool player just to hurt me.”

Jamie grins. “Or just because it’s true,” he offers with a wink, getting up. “You can go home if you want to get ready, or you can borrow something of mine, should be okay now that you’ve actually filled out a bit.”

Stevie looks down at his belly for a moment, giving it a poke. “Filled out? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Jamie laughs. “Your shoulders, mate. You would’ve drowned in my clothes five, six years ago, remember? Your muscles finally came in, you won’t look like a kid playing dress up.”

Stevie growls and glances over at the plates to make sure they’re well out of range before he drags Jamie down and wrestles with him, the way they’d always wrestled as kids. They fall off the sofa, landing on the carpet with a thump, and lay there, panting. The impact had knocked the air out of Stevie’s lungs, and having Jamie on top of him wasn’t particularly helping in that regard.

Or any regard, really, considering he could see the exact color of Jamie’s eyes from this close, that murky color that he could only describe in clichés, not quite icy blue, but—and there’s that nose again. That lovely remarkable nose that Stevie thinks he might love. And those cheekbones, high and strong, hollowing out his cheeks in an unfairly attractive way.

Jamie blinks, after a moment that could have lasted anywhere between half a second and several years. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, voice a bit deeper than it normally is, “you’re fit, Stevie. You’d be fit even if you had a little beer belly, mate.” He looks Stevie in the eyes for another second, and leans down to brush a careful kiss to his cheek, not far off from where his mouth is.

Stevie’s hallucinating. He must be. They hadn’t done any hard drugs last night, and the bar had been empty, but maybe those girls had spiked their drinks?—yeah, that must be it. They’d spiked their drinks with some sort of mystery drug that only took effect some twelve hours later, and made Stevie’s heart feel like it was beating out of his chest—

Jamie sits up and helps Stevie sit up too, grinning at him and ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Ten minutes, mate, and I’ll get you some clothes, too, and we’ll go.”

He’s out of the room the next minute, and Stevie finally lets his hand drift up and touch the spot where Jamie’s lips had pressed against his cheek.

“You missed,” he whispers to the empty room, flushing at his own sappiness as he gets up and takes the dishes into the kitchen.

They’re ready before long, checking to make sure they haven’t left anything behind. Jamie makes him leave the flat first and puts a wrapped package carefully in the back seat before they drive to Stevie’s flat. He brings an armload of presents out, and Jamie stares, wondering which one of them is his.

Dinner at the Gerrard house is crazy, in the absolute best possible way. He loves the Gerrards, he loves Stevie’s mum and dad and brother and sister-in-law and his little nieces and nephew, and he loves that the kids call him Uncle Jamie, even though he’s just a friend of Stevie’s and nothing more.

There are multicolored lights decorating the house, and Jamie loves them, has always loved them more than the plain yellow lights. It just feels more like Christmas. There’s a wreath on the front door, just before Stevie rings the bell.

His parents greet them at the door, and his mother wraps Jamie in a warm hug, and suddenly he doesn’t miss his own family as much. Stevie’s nieces are running up to them a moment later, all sweet giggles and arms out, demanding to be picked up. Stevie watches Jamie hug them out of the corner of his eye as he marvels over his nephew, still a baby and already asleep in his father’s arms, peaceful even in the midst of the chaos.

He looks up, only to see Jamie tossing his four-year-old niece up in the air and catching her a moment later. She squeals and hugs him tight around the neck, demanding another and another until Jamie says he’s too tired.

“You’re heavier!” He says accusingly, “you haven’t gone and grown on me, have you?” Alice giggles and nods.

“I did, I did! Daddy measured me against the wall and I grew lots!”

Jamie sets her on the floor and kneels to look at her a little better. “Don’t grow too fast,” he says softly, tugging playfully at a blonde pigtail, “or I won’t be able to lift you up anymore.”

“No, you’re _strong_ ,” Alice says, faith unshaken, “you can still lift me, even when I’m a hundred years old!”

Jamie laughs, loud and bright and pure, and Stevie thinks his heart might burst out of his chest.

Jamie walks into the house proper and sees the living room. There’s a Christmas tree, all lit up with lights and ornaments and stockings on the mantel, decorated with the kids’ names. There’s a wreath on the front door, and the sound of children playing, and all sorts of delicious smells drifting from the kitchen to greet them, and Jamie’s almost overwhelmed with the feeling of being _home_.

Alice doesn’t let up, though, taking Jamie’s hand and leading him to a corner she’d clearly been playing in. “Come here, come play Barbies with me!”

Stevie grins, waiting to hear a complaint about how unmanly Barbies are, and how Jamie can’t possibly bring himself to play with them.

But he just shrugs and sits down, tickling Alice lightly on the side as she settles in his lap and starts giving orders about the castle that needs to be built for her princesses.

That little spark of attraction that Stevie’d been relentlessly smothering for years had only grown since he’d crawled into bed with Jamie last night. Between the kiss and Christmas together and sleeping wrapped up in each other—he’s struggling to remind himself why it was so important that he keep his feelings secret.

And when Jamie starts building a castle for his niece’s Barbies, that tiny little spark bursts into flame and he can’t deny anymore that he loves him. He loves him, he loves him, _he loves him._

Jamie gets up eventually, after explaining that he has to go help with dinner, and heads towards the kitchen. Stevie follows him, only to be surprised at the way his mother shrieks when they come through the doorway.

“Mistletoe!” His sister-in-law explains with a patient smile. He looks up, and there it is, dangling up there innocently.

“Everyone’s been getting kissed,” Paul says with a grin, “Dad caught Mum a little bit ago, it was sweet. I caught my Jemma, that was fun. Even Alice kissed her baby brother after we explained it to her.”

Jamie grins and closes his eyes, offering his cheek up to Stevie. “Go on then, Steve.”

Stevie hesitates a moment, and leans over for a chaste kiss, square on Jamie’s mouth. Jamie kisses back, and maybe it’s a little bit pathetic that this is so mindblowing, considering there’s no tongue, they’re both fully clothed, and Stevie’s _parents_ are watching. But it still is, somehow. Jamie looks up at him after they pull apart, still smiling, but there’s uncertainty flicking about his eyes.

“Now, just because you kissed me doesn’t mean you get out of giving me a Christmas present!” he quips lightly before Stevie can explain or even think a rational thought. Everyone laughs, because Jamie always knows how to make everyone laugh. It’s a gift, especially when things get awkward.

Stevie smiles at him. “You could always unwrap me,” he murmurs as he walks past him, feeling immensely gratified when Jamie flushes.

They sit next to each other over dinner and Stevie flushes when he realizes Jamie’s ankle is warm against his, but he doesn’t move away. They’re such good friends and they know each other so well, they almost function as a couple already, the way they talk to people as a unit, building on to each other’s thoughts and picking up the thread of conversation when it gets lost.

After dinner, they move into the living room and Jamie absentmindedly wraps an arm around Stevie’s shoulders when they’re sitting on the sofa.

Stevie turns and beams at him, Jamie pausing to stroke his hair, too gentle to be an affectionate brotherly ruffle. Stevie catches his parents exchanging a rather particular look and feels warm all of a sudden, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Are you staying the night here? Should I go home and pick you up tomorrow?” Jamie asks him, when it’s late enough that the kids are asleep in their parents’ laps, except for Alice, who’d drifted off in Jamie’s arms.

Stevie shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll go home and come back tomorrow morning. The house is pretty full, what with the kids taking over my old room and Jem crammed into Paulie's old room with the baby, Paul's sleeping on the sofa I think? And then Mum and Dad in their room. We can go home.”

Jamie nods and calls out to Paul, who asks him if he wouldn’t mind dropping Alice off into bed, so she doesn’t wake up. Jamie doesn’t mind at all, and Stevie follows him into his childhood bedroom, posters of John Barnes still on the wall, and watches his best friend tuck his niece into his childhood bed.

To his credit, he waits until they’ve said goodbye and gotten back into the car before he says anything. In fact, the whole car ride is comfortably quiet, except for Jamie humming softly under his breath. Stevie smiles as he recognizes the tune, reaching over and resting a hand on Jamie’s thigh as they reach a stoplight.

Jamie doesn’t say anything about it, but he smiles faintly and keeps driving. They’re parked in front of Stevie’s house, and suddenly Stevie doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want him to leave quite yet.

“Stay the night? It’s better than going back to yours, J, it was freezing last night.”

Jamie agrees and as they walk into Stevie’s small flat, he clears his throat. “So, are we gonna talk about that kiss?”

“It was—it was just the mistletoe, J.”

Jamie looks skeptical for a moment before a glimmer enters his eye and he crosses the room quickly. He takes Stevie’s face in his hands and looks at him for a moment, seeing something he takes as an affirmative, and he leans down for their second kiss of the evening.

“No mistletoe here, is there?” he asks as he pulls away. Stevie’s looking up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable as he shakes his head.

Jamie gives him a second to process, and his patience is rewarded when Stevie lunges forward and kisses him again, open-mouthed and definitely not the sort of kiss that’s suitable for parents to see. Jamie grins and lets Stevie guide him towards his bedroom, still clinging to him. His fingers slip between them and undo the buttons on Jamie’s dress shirt, pulling it out of his trousers and over his shoulders until it’s on the floor.

Stevie’s shirt joins it a moment later and when they finally make it to bed, Jamie kisses him again, and this time, Stevie can’t quite hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he confesses, “I’ve loved you for a long time, J. Years.”

Jamie grins and presses his lips to Stevie’s again. “I think I’ve loved you too. For a long time. I just—I always knew you were handsome? And I knew that nobody you dated was every good enough for you, they didn’t deserve you. I just didn’t know I wanted you like this. Not until she left me a few days ago.”

Stevie beams at him and they spend ages laying in bed and kissing. They talk about taking it further. Stevie insists on a date, a proper one that doesn’t involve their families, and Jamie agrees in the middle of discovering the sensitive spot on Stevie’s neck that makes him mewl in pleasure. The sound does something to Jamie, some new pleasure coiled in the muscles of his back and in other, rather more _traditional_ muscles.

“Buy me dinner first,” Stevie whispers, hand on his stomach and sliding steadily lower.

“I’ll buy you a delivery pizza right now if that’ll get you to touch me,” Jamie gasps.

Stevie giggles, and tugs his boxers down. "Eh, dinner can wait. And the kids can open their presents without us.”

Jamie sighs in relief at the touch, rolling over to kiss him desperately. “I’m going to unwrap you now,” he croons, “just like you asked—“   
\---

  
They wake up late on Christmas Day, but somehow, they don’t mind all that much.

 


End file.
